


Day Twenty Six: Meeting in an Elevator

by Invictusimpala



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Blow Jobs, Elevator Sex, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Trapped In Elevator, Virgin Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invictusimpala/pseuds/Invictusimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What?"<br/>“Nothing, it’s just . . . you’re different than what everyone says you’re like.”<br/>“What does everyone say I’m like?”<br/>“A huge prick for one.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Twenty Six: Meeting in an Elevator

**Author's Note:**

> Day twenty six! Thank you so much for reading, enjoy :)

The big law firm building is huge. There are tons of floors, tons of sections and different jobs that have nothing to do with each other within the place.

Dean works up in section three, floor thirty four. He hates it. It’s taken four years to not flinch when he walks past the bank of windows leading to his office.

He still presses himself up against the wall adjacent to them, however, and it takes everything in him not to run straight past them.

It’s so high up, and he’s never been one for heights.

His office is spacious, with nice short threaded carpet, dark so it hides his coffee stains, and the walls are white. The windows are open most days, letting in the cool air to vent out some of the heat.

His desk is a dark cherry wood that doesn't match anything else in the room, but he loves it. There are secret compartments, drawers galore, and he can file his things neatly, papers stacked up high, then passed away like they're nothing. It gives him a sense of relief at the end of the day, like he's done his job well.

It’s a good place to work. He gets paid well enough, treated well with full benefits.

It’s just that life at home isn't so great.

His apartment is nice, big and open because of his large paycheck he gets every month, but it’s empty besides a dresser and bed.

There’s no food in the fridge, there is nothing in his apartment that makes it home.

No, he left home behind long ago to live his own life.

His parents used to nag on him, and he was the only kid in his whole school that didn't have a sibling.

Dean is always alone, always has been, and his greatest fear is that he always will be.

Every morning he gets up, strips, showers, brushing his teeth and washing his face before slipping on his slacks and belt, buttoning his shirt and fixing his tie. He shines his shoes up with a cloth, and then he’s out the door, briefcase in hand, to the nearest coffee shop that uses fat-free milk.

He gets the cheapest coffee, which turns out to be about seven dollars much to his dismay, and then it’s off to his job.

The lobby floor is all glass and shiny. There’s a check-in desk, and a scanner you have to go through to get upstairs. To the right are the bathrooms and the elevators, and to the left is the general area for people making appointments, filing claims, and finishing up sign-in slash out duties.

Paper work is scattered all over the floor this morning, and Dean rushes to help the guy out. He’s tall, taller than him, which is a surprise, and it’s no wonder he dropped the papers considering he has about thirty cups of coffee in his hands.

“Dude, where are you taking those, and why wasn't I invited to the party?” Dean asks, and he laughs, setting the coffees down momentarily while he shoves the stack back in his bag.

“Section two, floor twelve. It’s my division. They make me go out to get them coffee because I’m not a top shot like you.” He says it, but there is no malice behind it, just a mindless joke. Dean lets it slide.

“Do you need some help? I don’t need to be in for another twenty minutes.”

“Uh, if you can spare the time, that’d be great.”

“Sure, sure.”

Dean throws his empty cup in the trash, exchanging it for four other coffees he struggles to balance. He doesn't know this guy does it.

“What’s your name?”

“Sam Wesson.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam I’m De--”

“Dean Smith, yeah I know.” He smiles wide, and it’s impossible not to return it. Sam presses the button for the elevator with his hip, and eventually it dings and the doors open.

The ride up is quiet except for the scrape of the elevator pulling itself up all twelve floors.

It’s sort of alarming, especially when it stops and the doors don’t open.

“What the hell?” Dean bangs on the metal with his elbow, but it does nothing but cause him pain.

A speaker crackles to life and he can hear breathing.

“Hello? Is anyone in the elevator?”

“Hey, this is Dean Smith, what happened?”

“Oh god, the boss is gonna kill me. Uh, yeah, the elevator is broken. It’s going to be a good hour before the doors are fixed. You’re not on any floor, you’re stuck between two or else we could pry the doors open to get you out.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do for an hour in here? I have work to do, and so does Sam.”

“ _Sam Wesson_? Shit. Hang on, let me call the guys and see what the ETA for them coming out to fix it is.”

The speakers fuzz out, and he can hear talking in the background.

“Okay, yeah, it’s still an hour. Maybe two. The company that does the elevators is a ways out, so they have to get the supplies, get here, and then they can start working.”

“Fuck, man, this isn't cool.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson. We’ll get you out as soon as we can.”

The speaker’s sound dies out, and Dean slumps against the wall, groaning loudly.

“This sucks.” Sam says, setting the coffee on the floor. Dean does the same, sitting down in one of the corners.

It’s not a small elevator, they need to be big here because of filing cabinets and tons of people making their ways from floor to floor.

There’s enough room for the both of them to stretch out comfortably without touching.

“So, how did you know who I was?”

“You mean other than the fact that everyone on floor twelve worships you?” Dean snorts. “I’m serious. I know more about you than I want to. You’re like the star of their favorite freaking show or something, it’s weird.”

“Seriously? Huh. That is weird. Up where I work it’s like I don’t exist.”

Sam shrugs, taking a sip from one of the cups, grimacing when it’s not good. Dean laughs.

“What, we might as well taste them, not like they’re going to be hot for long.”

They both take turns sipping at cups until one of them tastes good.

Dean tries not to think about all the shared spit that just happened, frowning into his caramel macchiato.

“So what goes on on floor twelve, sounds like fun.”

“No, it’s not fun. Everyone is a bully and I’m the target. It’s not like I do anything to them, I get them all coffee every morning for God’s sake, but still, they’re horrible.”

“Huh.” Sam is looking at him funny. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just . . . you’re different than what everyone says you’re like.”

“What does everyone say I’m like?”

“A huge prick for one.” Dean laughs loudly and Sam joins in.

“Right back at ‘em. You need to get promoted so you can get off that floor.”

“I know, I’m working as hard as I can, but I can’t really do anything when all my time is spent making coffee runs and fetching salads with no carbs -- no nuts, no dressing, just leaves. Who the _fuck_ orders a salad with just the lettuce? That’s messed up.”

Dean huffs a laugh at that, stretching his legs, folding them, ankle over ankle, hands rested on his stomach.

He loosens his tie and Sam watches the movement, so he takes it off completely.

Sam takes his off and unbuttons the first few on the top of his shirt, untucking it from his slacks.

“You know, I used to be one of those guys, but I was never mean to our paper boy, man. He was super cool.”

“What was his name?”

“Kevin. I had to fire him, he wasn't qualified, he lied on his application so he could get some money. I gave him what he needed, and then sent him off.”

“So, not a douche then.”

“I like to think I’m not a total jerk. I mean, I boss people around when they’re not doing their jobs, but other than that I am pretty lenient.”

“Yeah, I wish you were my boss, I mean you are, but I mean, like directly.”

“You seem like a hard working guy. I’ll put in a good word for ya.”

“Really?” Sam brightens significantly, and it makes Dean feel good, a warmth spreading through him.

“Yeah. You got stuck in an elevator with me, I think that deserves a promotion considering how much of an asshole I am.”

Sam grins.

“Thank you, seriously, that’s . . . great.”

It’s awkward silence after that. Dean’s head makes a thunk sound as it hits the back wall.

“You know, I’m glad I’m stuck in here with you and not someone else.”

“Some of the people here are kinda creepy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Dean closes his eyes, his eyelids burning from lack of sleep due to the noise in his apartment. There’s nothing to dull it, no couch or carpet to keep the sound from bouncing off walls, and it wakes him up for most of the night.

There’s metal creaking above them, and then they’re dropping, a sort of life-altering event Dean isn't ready for yet. He clings to Sam, but the elevator stops abruptly, knocking them over, Dean atop him.

They’re panting by the time Dean gets back to his body, and he laughs breathlessly. Sam does as well, into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“We’re gonna die in here, I think.” Dean says, and Sam sobers up a little.

“No, we’re not.” He says, and he presses a surprise kiss to Dean’s skin. “But, we might as well live like it.”

Dean’s brain stalls. Sam keeps kissing up his throat, and he tilts it back on instinct alone, his brain not cooperating with the rest of his body.

Sam pulls him closer by his belt, undoing it expertly, and Dean braces himself on his knees.

Sam’s mouth finds his, and then it’s like someone flipped a switch. It’s a race to see who can get their clothes off the fastest, but they need it now. The metal is creaking again, a dangerous sound.

Sam pulls Dean’s hard cock through his open fly, and Dean does the same.

He’s leaking profusely, and it would be embarrassing if it weren't for it being Sam. It just feels right.

“Dean, slow down, slow down.”

“You okay? Do you want to stop?”

“No, god no, I just . . .” Sam bites his lip, his cheeks flushing a little darker. “I've never done this.”

“Like, with a man, or in general.”

“Which answer won’t make you stop?”

“The truth.”

“I've never done anything.”

“Then I’ll make sure you feel real good, if this is what you want.”

They’re both a mess, looking like total wrecks. Sam’s shirt is unbuttoned and half-off, his pants unzipped, belt in the corner, hard cock throbbing visibly, head flushed and pumping out pre-come down his shaft, veins thick.

Dean’s mouth waters.

He forgets about his own dick in favor of tonguing Sam’s.

Sam gasps, a breathy moan passing his spit-slick lips.

Dean laps at his slit, following the dripping pre-come until all of it is in his mouth. He sucks one of Sam’s balls into his mouth, and he calls out, hands finding Dean’s hair, tugging his head further down. Dean sucks at both of his balls, using every trick he knows.

“Fuck, oh god, oh god, Dean, _Dean_ , so good. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop for the love of god.” Sam groans, and Dean chuckles, breathing in Sam’s scent.

He smells like fancy cologne and vanilla soap.

Dean presses a kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock before he sucks him down, fitting him into his throat little by little, then adding all the suction he can without his teeth coming into the picture.

Sam muffles his scream into his elbow as he comes down Dean’s throat. Dean splutters, coughing, and Sam pants apologies mixed in with obscenities.

“Dean, Dean, sorry. Shoulda told you, sorry. It just . . . I didn't know it would be that _intense_.”

Dean laughs, and palms himself.

“Let me take care of you.” Sam says, but Dean shakes his head.

“Nah, I wanna make you come again before I do.”

Sam chuckles, letting his head drop back. Dean sucks hickies near his collarbones so they won't be visible above his shirt collar.

He sucks on Sam’s nipples, using just a little bit of teeth, and in ten minutes Sam is begging, pleading, bargaining his way into another orgasm.

His hair is sweat soaked, matted to his forehead, long tendrils of it getting in his eyes. Dean brushes it out of the way, kissing his eyelids closed.

“Don’t think, just feel. Tell me what feels good, okay?”

Sam hums, quieting down now that he knows he’s getting what he wants, what he needs.

Dean kisses his way down Sam’s sternum, his stomach, avoiding his hardening cock, moving to kiss between his spread thighs. Dean tugs Sam’s pants off, along with his boxer-briefs, and he moves Sam’s legs so his feet are planted on the floor shoulder width apart, giving Dean access to what he really wants.

Dean licks over his rim, and Sam shakes, biting back noise.

“Be loud, no one can hear us, Sam.”

Sam keens, closing his eyes as Dean moves back to licking between his legs. Sam holds his knees, keeping his legs apart as he comes apart, panting and whining, cock heavy as it jerks where it’s laying on his stomach, leaving trails of pre-come all over his abs.

Dean licks it up, mouthing at the crown before going back down on Sam, rimming him with fervor.

“Dean, keep going, do something, please.”

Dean moves his lips into a circle and _sucks_ on the skin.

Sam chokes out a sob.

“Do that again.” He commands, and Dean positions himself before he does it again.

Sam comes all over his stomach, and Dean strokes him through it, licking his hand before gripping his cock.

Sam sighs from the relief of pressure that had been building, and Dean is envious. He is still hard, stuck in his slacks, and he pulls himself back out.

“Now can I take care of you?” Sam sounds worn out, still coming down, but Dean nods anyway.

Sam’s hand is covered in his come, and he grips Dean hard, just how he likes it.

Dean grunts, holding onto Sam’s hips for comfort and some leverage. He thrusts into Sam’s grip, holding back sounds he’s embarrassed to make. Sam stops and he whimpers.

“If you let me make noise, I am going to _make_ you be loud.” Sam squishes the head of his cock in his hand, his palm warm, and Dean moans loudly, his eyes rolling back in his head, his neck exposed as he throws it back.

“Sam.” He gasps, and he can feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Sam fondles his balls, rolling them in his palm, ghosting a finger over his hole while continuing to jerk him off.

Dean comes suddenly, his orgasm catching him by surprise, his favorite way to come. He rides it out, his hips rolling forward over and over into Sam’s hand, trying to get more of it because it feels amazing.

He slumps against Sam when he's wrung out, sweaty bodies covered in both of their come.

Dean summons the last of his strength, moving down Sam’s body to lick it up, and Sam groans, cock giving a convincing twitch, but nothing else happens.

“We should get dressed.” The elevator shifts as it’s pulled up, and it’s a rush to get their clothes back on instead of off.

There are tipped over coffee cups spilled across the floor, but it’s not Dean or Sam’s problem now. They part ways after a final kiss, the doors opening just as they part.

They never talk about what they are, just sort of go with it. It’s exclusive after the elevator incident, Dean knows that, and he’s glad he finally has a constant in his life, a couch in his kitchen, and a warm body to keep his bed warm (and another worker on his floor after Sam’s promotion, Dean true to his word).

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://www.invictus-impala.tumblr.com)  
>  I am taking prompts there, if you're interested :)  
> (More info on that [here](http://invictus-impala.tumblr.com/post/99871679299/about-prompts-im-now-taking-prompts-yay-if-you))


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